


The Guardians of Great Britain

by floosilver8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Prompt Fill, SWC2014, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlolly writing challenge: 2014, super powers, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floosilver8/pseuds/floosilver8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>SWC2014 prompt:</em> Superhero AU: A mysterious masked man and a woman guard the streets at night with their special abilities. John senses that something is up with Sherlock and Molly, when they start to fall asleep during the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret Defenders

Mary was taking a well deserved nap after a full day of tending to a suspected-colicky baby Anne. John had finally gotten her to quiet down by turning on BBC News and gently rocking her back and forth. Apparently the dulcet voice of George Alagiah and the blippy theme tune provided some distraction to whatever had been bothering her. It was for this reason that John saw the story about the strange figures captured on CCTV foiling a bank robbery in Wimbledon.

The footage was grainy, and the figures were masked, but they were definitely stopping the robbery. The oddest bit was that they appeared on the scene seemingly out of nowhere. The strangeness was noted and passed off as being a glitch of the camera. John stopped paying attention to the story when Anne began fussing again.

 

A few days later, John was grabbing a quick lunch at the cafe near his clinic when he caught another report on the strange figures. They’d been again captured on CCTV, this time stopping a mugging in Knightsbridge. The footage again wasn’t the best quality but it was almost definitely the same people. One still-image showed them a little clearer, and their body types indicated it was likely a man and a woman. They had officially been dubbed England’s Dynamic Duo. John just rolled his eyes at the absurd moniker, finished his sandwich, and returned to work.

Before he returned home that evening he stopped at 221B to check in on things. He hadn’t heard from Sherlock for almost a full week, which seemed odd. To John’s knowledge, Sherlock didn’t have any cases on at the moment. Usually he’d have received an onslaught of texts begging for his assistance or for some distraction if Sherlock was bored.

John opened the door to 221 with the spare key he still had. Mrs. Hudson apparently wasn’t in her flat so he went straight up to his former home. The first thing that greeted him was the mess. If possible, it was more of a disaster than usual. The second thing he noticed was the silence. Generally, if Sherlock was at home he’d be making some sort of ruckus. That’s just how it seemed to work with him.

For a second or two, John entertained the idea that Sherlock must have been out. But he only had to turn around to find his friend sitting at the kitchen table, face down, hunched over a scatter of papers and paraphernalia. Panic immediately filled John at the sight. Scenarios of Sherlock being drugged or harmed in some way to cause this unconscious state flitted through his brain at lightning speed.

“SHERLOCK!” John shouted, rushing over to his side. But before he could grab Sherlock’s wrist to search for a pulse, Sherlock’s head shot straight up.

“For God’s sake, John don’t shout!” Sherlock snapped.

“Oh, thank Christ.” John took a few calming breaths to collect himself. “I thought you were dead.”

“No. Quite obviously asleep.” Sherlock rubbed at his face and neck a few times before standing and stretching. He then began collecting the papers he had been laying on with more force than was probably necessary.

“Why were you asleep at the table?” John asked, his heart rate not yet returning to normal.

“I was working on an experiment and nodded off. Surely you’ve been witness to this occurrence previously?”

“Uhh, not really.” John took a seat at the table, still a bit shaken and looked around the flat again searching for some way to stop the flow of Dead Sherlock imagery. The familiar jacket and pink scarf draped over “his” armchair did a good job of derailing all negative thought. He stared at the garments for a second, connecting the dots of where he had seen them before. _Bart’s_. _Molly_. John slowly turned back to his friend, who was now looking intently back at him, and cocked one eyebrow meaningfully.

Sherlock blanched. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Those are Molly Hooper’s things,” John said plainly.

“Um, yes. Correct so far.”

“Unless Molly is here, she’s somewhere else and very cold without her jacket.”

“Yes, well. ...She is here.”

John glanced around the “common” areas of the flat, mock looking for her.

“In my bedroom. ...Sleeping.” Sherlock clarified, and continued staring at him.

John blinked a few times waiting for further explanation. When one wasn’t offered he simply said, “Alright.”

Before he could do much else Molly emerged from Sherlock’s bedroom. She was dressed in her usual casual trousers and blouse, and smiled as soon as she saw him. “John! Hi!” She greeted him brightly and leaned down to give him a quick hug. “How are Mary and little Anne?” she said, giving him a gentle squeeze on the arm.

John couldn’t help but grin, and completely forgetting his momentary shock. Thinking about his wife and child made his heart soar. “They are fantastic! Anne is getting over colic but she’s been grand otherwise. It’s so...amazing. Just...brilliant.” He was a little startled to find tears forming in his eyes. He loved his family, but rarely became teary over them. For some reason he was now feeling _very_ emotional about it.

Molly seemed to notice and looked away to be polite. Thankfully, John calmed down considerably and the tears dried up without needing to be wiped away. He could have sworn Molly and Sherlock shared a serious look. “That’s lovely to hear,” she said happily. “Can I make you some tea?” she offered.

“No, no I can’t stay. Just wanted to check in.” John suddenly noticed that Sherlock was scrutinising him with narrowed eyes. “Uhh...so how have you both been?” he asked, a little self-conscious.

“Fine,” Sherlock offered stiffly taking his seat back at the table. Molly just gave a soft smile again and busied herself with clearing the work top and putting the kettle on.

“Okay. ...Any new cases since I last saw you?”

“Three so far.”

“Oh, really?” John was surprised to hear it, having not been asked along on any of them. “Solved all three, have you?”

“No. Only two.” He paused for a moment, glancing to the side before clarifying, “Molly helped.”

“Did she? Wow. I mean, that’s great.” He shifted a little uncomfortably. “It’s nice that you can ask her along when I’m busy with the baby.”

Sherlock just nodded, furrowing his brow.

“Is everything all right, Sherlock?” John asked with concern, leaning forward in his chair. “You seem on edge.”

“I’m fine, John.”

“Right. ...Okay. Do you need my help with the third case?”

“Not at present, no.”

John had to admit he was a bit hurt to not be needed. But he tried to play it off. “Oh...all right. Well...let me know if you do. I should get home to Mary and the baby. We think Anne is teething finally. It’s such a-”

“Yes, thank you, John.” Sherlock stood and held his arm out to the door. Molly stopped fussing with making tea and tutted at him in rebuke.

“Uhh...okay. Well, keep in touch, I guess.” John rose and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets.

Sherlock nodded once, still holding out his arm indicating the exit. Just as he was about to turn and leave Molly reached out to squeeze his arm again. “Give Mary and the baby a kiss from me. And let me know a good time to drop by to see them.”

John felt a million times better about leaving and returning home just then. “I surely will. Great to see you, Molly. Sherlock.” He nodded at them both and left the flat. As he walked the block to the Tube station, John felt fantastic. He grinned from ear to ear, thinking of his beautiful wife and daughter as he rode the train home. Even the jerk who stepped on his foot and gave him a dirty look afterward couldn’t dampen his mood. Life really was great.


	2. Power Unveiled

Stories of England’s Dynamic Duo continued to pop up every few days. They somehow put out a fire in Camden, delivered known drug lords one by one to the Met’s doorstep, and even returned lost dogs to their homes. All their good deeds took place in the middle of the night, and no one had any further clue who they really were.

Even the criminals who had been brought to justice at their hands couldn’t give descriptions of the pair. They all remembered committing the crimes they were accused of, but drew blanks when pressed about their capture. Everyone reported feeling really guilty about what they’d done and were eager to confess to everything.

Conspiracy theories were touted left, right and centre on chat shows and in the tabloids. Some were convinced the crime fighting pair were a publicity stunt for a bin liner company. Others thought it was a political move by the minority parties – no one could agree on which party was responsible.

The frenzy went on for a full two weeks. Just when it started to die down, some other story would pop up and it would begin all over again.

John got a call from Greg Lestrade about a fortnight after the strange encounter at 221B. The DI needed John to meet him at St. Bart’s to go over a new case with Sherlock. With his clinic shift over, and the new nanny helping out with Anne, John felt like he could spare a few hours. Of course, he checked in with Mary first just to be sure. She was more than happy to let him take on a case again because, honestly, he was driving her a little mad being underfoot sometimes.

So John strolled into the morgue at St. Bart’s to find DI Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper all staring at a green corpse. John thought Greg’s face probably mirrored his own. Sherlock and Molly, however, didn’t seem that bothered by the disturbing cadaver - as usual.

“Hypochromic anaemia?” John asked, causing Greg to look up and acknowledge his presence with a sympathetic grimace.

“Good guess but I’m afraid not,” Molly said seriously. “It’s also not quinacrine ingestion, or a reaction to copper.” She shot down the only other explanations John could come up with. Just as he was about to joke that they should check that it wasn’t just green make up, Molly giggled softly. Everyone stared at her for a moment. “Oh...just thought of something funny from yesterday. Never mind.”

Lestrade left after a short while, needing to get back to the office – and probably not able to stomach looking at the body any longer. So John helped Molly and Sherlock run tests on the corpse’s skin samples for an hour. They threw in everything they collectively knew about the causes of skin discolouration – and even some shots in the dark - and nothing came up as a match. To top it off, other than the green skin, the man appeared to have no other ailments that would indicate a cause of death. Nothing about his life could give any clue to either cause.

Sherlock was wrapping up a random analysis he decided to try at the last minute, while Molly tidied up the work areas and John stared at the notes from all of their failed tests. He looked over at his friend to see if Sherlock had made any progress, only to discover that the consulting detective appeared to be fast asleep while holding a pipette aloft. A second later, Sherlock shook himself awake and continued his experiment.

It was really strange and discomforting to see Sherlock seemingly exhausted both times John had seen him recently. But John went back to studying the notes because there was no use saying anything. Sherlock would only recite his usual bit about his body being a “vessel.”

When John glanced up a few minutes later, he was further startled to find Molly slouched at her work station, eyes closed, resting her head in her hands. In the five years he had known her, Molly had never slacked off at work. And the fact that it was only 4pm made it all the more strange. He watched her for a few moments and begun to feel a bit tired himself. He scrubbed at his face and yawned just as Molly shook herself awake again.

“I can’t think of anything else to do,” he said aloud.

“Me neither,” Molly said, a bit discouraged.

“This is useless!” Sherlock practically shouted and threw the pipette down.

“Why don’t we all go home, take a break, and start again tomorrow?” John offered. “It’s my day off and the nanny’s supposed to be in again so I should be free to help.”

“Thank you, John,” Molly said with a smile. “That would be lovely. Wouldn’t it Sherlock?”

“What?! No it wouldn’t!” Sherlock apparently hadn’t been paying full attention but caught up quickly. “What is _tomorrow_ going to-” Sherlock stopped talking the moment Molly knitted her brows and frowned in a silent scolding. Apparently catching her drift, he became pacified. “Fine. Whatever. Good bye, John.”

John rolled his eyes and waved to Molly before leaving.

 

When he arrived home a short while later, Mary was lounging in the sitting room. Anne was in her bassinet, apparently dry, fed, and happy to do nothing. He greeted his wife warmly, and cooed over his daughter for several minutes.

“What would you like for dinner?” he asked while Anne held tight to his finger. Meals for Mary and himself were his responsibility to sort out.

“Oh!” Mary exclaimed. “I have the most intense craving for prawn dumplings from that Chinese place on Marylebone Road!”

“That sounds great. Shall I order the usual for takeaway?”

“Let’s go out!” Mary suggested enthusiastically. “Anne’s been so good today and I need to get out of the house for a while. No one tells you that maternity leave is boring as hell.”

John chuckled lightly, “Our daughter is offended that you don’t find her entertaining.”

“Well our daughter needs to learn to sing and dance to earn mummy’s love. Don’t you dear? Yes you do!” Mary sing-songed playfully and wiggled her finger at the baby who only smiled back.

John laughed again, “Fine, fine. We’ll go out. Do you want to stop in at Baker Street? I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would love to see you both, and I want to check on Sherlock. He’s been a bit off recently.”

“Of course. The diaper bag’s all packed and the pram is in the hall. Just let me change into a top without sick on it.”

 

So the Watson family had a bit of an evening on the town – in as much as they could while carting around an infant. Near the end of their meal, John ordered another helping of dumplings and Sweet & Sour Pork to take away. He’d at least _try_ to get Sherlock to eat it, even if he apparently couldn’t be persuaded to sleep regularly.

John let them in with his spare key again, and was surprised to see that Mrs. Hudson was presumably out. They left the pram in the foyer and carried baby Anne, and the take away upstairs. The flat was quiet and tidier, but some of the lights were on, and all signs pointed to Sherlock being home. His coat and scarf were on the hook, his phone was on the desk, and his keys were in the bowl on the coffee table. Both the door to the sitting room, and the one to the kitchen, had been left wide open but Sherlock appeared in neither of those rooms.

“Knock, knock,” John called, looking around and waiting for a reply. When none came he straightened up in slight surprise. “Maybe he’s asleep. I’ll just check the bedroom really quick.” Mary shrugged and took a seat on the sofa with the baby.

He set the food down on the coffee table and walked through the kitchen to Sherlock’s room, whose door was also open. John was not prepared for the sight that greeted him.  Through the dim light, John could distinctly see Sherlock curled up with a woman, both fully dressed and fast asleep on top of the duvet. John bolted from the room and lingered in the kitchen to collect himself before relaying to Mary what he’d seen. He couldn’t decide if he was happy or anxious about the fact that Sherlock apparently had a secret girlfriend.

It was while he was wracking his brain that he noticed two black bundles of cloth on the kitchen table. They looked simultaneously familiar and out of place. He picked one up to examine it more closely, flipping it over in his hands and discovered that it was actually a mask. Suddenly grainy images of the so-called Dynamic Duo flashed in his mind. _Did Sherlock know who they were? Was he trying to impersonate them for a case? What the hell was going o-?_

Before he could get the final thought through his brain he felt a small hand on his shoulder. Normally he would have been startled to have someone sneak up on him, but he felt remarkably calm. He turned slowly to greet the owner of the hand, and smiled warmly when he saw Molly. _Aw, sweet Molly._

Her brown eyes glistened in the overhead light of the kitchen, and her smile felt like summer. John barely registered the shuffling figure emerge from the bedroom a moment later. He just felt too amazing to pay attention to anything else in the world.

“Molly, it’s still too early. Why are-” Sherlock stopped in his tracks when he saw John.

Molly dropped her hand and John looked at his startled friend. He still felt good, but not as good as when Molly had her hand on his shoulder. He really wanted her to do it again, but she backed away slowly instead. She glanced at Sherlock and he appeared to shake his head to focus. John just watched them stare at each other for a few seconds, both of their faces slowly changing into serious expressions.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked, stepping into the kitchen and bringing John back to himself.

“Oh, err...” John said unhelpfully.

Molly broke the staring contest with Sherlock and beamed at Mary and Anne. “It’s so good to see you!” she trilled and stepped over to greet them properly. “You look fantastic. Has she been a good girl for mummy?”

“She has today,” Mary said in a tone that indicated it wasn’t always the case. And almost as if on cue, Anne started to fuss. “We just had our first night-time outing, didn’t we?” She bounced the baby in her arms in their usual move to get her to calm down but it didn’t seem to work.

“May I?” Molly asked, holding out her hands.

“Of course!” Mary nodded and passed Anne over. As soon as she was settled, leaning against Molly’s chest, Anne fell asleep. “Are you magic?” Mary asked in awe. Sherlock coughed rather loudly and she and John glanced at him briefly.

“Something like that,” Molly laughed, swaying slowly and rubbing Anne’s back tenderly.

Mary smiled at her and turned back to acknowledge the two men still standing in the kitchen. “John, why are you holding a mask that looks like...wait...” She narrowed her eyes at the cloth, stepping forward and taking the second one in her hands.

Molly’s arm shot out to seemingly stop her, but she was too slow while still holding on to the baby. Sherlock also lurched forward but apparently stopped himself when he realised he was too far away.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked again, this time very sternly. She looked between Molly and Sherlock who just stared at each other like they had done a few moments before. “Why do you have these masks?”

“Yeah, I was going to ask that. These look like the ones those weird crime fighting people use.” John piped up finally finding his voice again.

Mary’s head lifted in understanding. Both Sherlock and Molly’s eyes went wide and stared at her. “It’s you two. Isn’t it? You’re the couple,” she said slowly.

Molly seemed to break first, her face relaxing into one of concern rather than shock. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. Sherlock sighed and walked around the table to where she was standing. “Shut up,” she shot at him with a severe look. “They are our friends.” He scowled but held up his hands in defeat.

“What is it?” John asked.

“ _Just stay calm_ ,” Molly’s voice sounded in his head. Mary started next to him and breathed in sharply. Molly reached out her free hand to lie on Mary’s shoulder. “ _It’s okay. Everything is fine_ ,” Molly’s disembodied voice soothed, and Mary visibly relaxed. John felt really great again too if he was honest. Confused, but good.

“Molly, stop.” Sherlock said slightly defeated. “Just tell them.”

“Tell us what?” John asked.

“Why don’t we have a seat in the living room?” Molly suggested kindly, returning baby Anne to her mother’s arms. Mary and John nodded in unison and moved into the sitting room, settling themselves on the sofa. Molly sat on the arm chair closest to them and smiled softly.

“I don’t _want_ to sit,” Sherlock said suddenly and quite sharply, standing near his desk.

“What?” John asked, startled.

“Fine.” Molly said sweetly, still looking at John and Mary. She took a deep breath while they both refocused on her. “You’re right, Mary. Sherlock and I are the couple from the stories on the news.” She paused to take another breath. Things started to fall into place in John’s mind. He suddenly realised why they had both been so tired earlier.

“That’s right, John. We _have_ been staying up rather late to solve these crimes.” Her voice was steady and calm but he was confused because he was sure he hadn’t said anything out loud.

“Yes, Mary. There’s more to it than just that.” John turned and blinked at his wife who he was _sure_ hadn’t said anything. It was as if Molly was answering the questions forming in both of their heads before they could be spoken.

“ _I am_ ,” her voice sounded in his head but her lips didn’t move, just like when they were standing in the kitchen a moment ago.

“You _are_?” John and Mary said in unison.

“She is.” Sherlock said almost bored.

“I don’t understand. ...How?!” John asked a little too loudly, causing Anne to stir and fuss in her mother’s arms.

Molly leaned forward and touched Anne’s head gently, and she immediately fell asleep again. “The same way I can do that,” she answered, nodding at the baby. “It just happens.”

“The question you really should ask is, ‘ _Why_?’” Sherlock said, still sounding and looking bored.

“Okay, why?” Mary asked.

“For that we can blame Sherlock,” Molly grinned.

“You cannot!” Sherlock insisted, but then quickly relented, “Okay fine, you can.”

“Eh?” John interjected, thoroughly confused.

“It was an experiment,” he began. “Molly and I broke into this government lab – Ok, _fine_. _I_ broke into the lab, and I dragged Molly along,” he corrected, shooting her a look. “Well, there was an invite the first time but yes, fine, I definitely broke in the second time. Anyway, one of the staff had reported weird things going on in the lab after hours. Things were being moved or going missing and a weird odour had settled in one of the chemical stores. They were afraid to go to the police because it might leak to the press and cause a media frenzy. So they contacted me to see if I could solve it. I poked around and concluded that someone must be sneaking in at night, disabling the security system that was motion-activated, and doing whatever it was they were doing. They agreed to change the system and shooed me away like they didn’t need my help anymore. So that’s when I decided to go back that night and find out what the person was doing.”

“And you thought it would be a great idea to drag me along, and possibly get us arrested and ruin my career,” Molly interrupted.

“We were _not_ going to get arrested!” Sherlock shot back. “I just needed a second set of hands and I was with you at Bart’s so I asked. ...And you said _yes_!” he pointed out. Molly grinned and he huffed once but quickly relaxed. “Anyway, we got inside and found the culprit already in the act. I let them work for a moment before I emerged to apprehend them.” He glanced nervously at Molly before continuing.

“There was a bit of a scuffle and Molly tried to intervene. The person apparently panicked when they saw they were outnumbered and threw bits of their experiment at us. We were splashed with several chemicals...Molly getting the worst of it.” He said rather guiltily. “And then we sort-of blacked out. When we came-to we were back here at Baker Street. Neither of us have any recollection of how we got here, but we were apparently fine.

“If we ever saw the person’s face neither of us remember. After a short while of trying to piece things together, we realised we each had certain...abilities,” he said reluctantly.

“So...you’re saying you now have super powers?” John asked dimly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Don’t be ridiculous, John. We don’t live in a comic book universe! Yes, Molly’s able to regulate moods and emotions with a touch or sometimes a look, but she’s always been...well...easy to be around, I guess. It just appears to be heightened now. We’ve done a bunch of testing to find our limits. We are able to communicate telepathically with each other, which I have to admit is strange. I could always tell what she was thinking before, but now...I can actually _hear_ it.”

“I heard it too,” Mary confessed.

“Yes, that’s a rather interesting development.” Sherlock admitted. “Molly appears to be able to do it with everyone while I...well, certain other people aren’t as easy to hear for me. Sometimes I can hear others _through_ her. I can’t do it with either of you, for example. But I’ve been able to hear all the criminals we’ve caught. That’s how we find them, one or both of us will hear it, or someone in distress, and we’ll fly off to stop whatever it is.”

“ _Fly_ off?” John’s jaw dropped open. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, our strength and speed are greatly enhanced as well...and Molly’s...able to...well...”

“Apparently I can fly,” she finished for him. “I grab him and off we go to catch some criminals.”

John and Mary stared at her in disbelief. This was too much. Yes, he had heard Molly in his head, and she and Sherlock seemed to be having conversations without speaking, but this was unbelievable. 

“ _It’s true_ ,” Molly’s voice sounded in his head again. She stood up and moved a few steps away from everyone else. Then she bent her knees and pushed off from the ground. And as God as his witness, John had to admit that she was indeed flying.

She was careful in her movements, remaining quite close to the high ceiling and only disturbing some loose papers as she passed by. She took a turn around the flat, through the open kitchen door into the hall, turned back and landed gracefully in the sitting room, next to Sherlock. He smiled weakly at her and they both turned their attention back to John and Mary.

“But...I don’t understand,” John said yet again raising his eyebrows in alarm. “ _How_?!”

“We don’t KNOW how it works, okay?!” Sherlock shouted. “For lack of a better word these _are_ super powers! We’re not exactly working with logic here!!”

Molly shot a hand out to grab his arm. Stillness fell over everyone but John’s jaw hung open as he stared at his friends. No one said anything for a few moments.

“So...how do you fly?” Mary asked casually, turning to Molly.

“I actually have no idea. Just like the telepathy and the mood control, I just want to do it so it happens.”

“I saw you slow down before you landed, does that mean you can control it once you start?”

“Um, sort of. Like, I can steer by moving my shoulders of course, and to go faster I kind of...umm...clench my arse cheeks together.” John’s eyebrows raised impossibly higher. “Like we said, we’ve done a bunch of testing but none of it really makes any sense.”

“Sure, sure.” Mary seemed to be taking this in stride while John still sat there in disbelief.

“Wait...where’s Mrs. Hudson? Is she okay?!” John asked suddenly panicking that his former landlady had come to some perilous end. He hadn’t seen her in several weeks either.

“She’s fine, John. It’s bridge night with her OAP club,” Molly soothed him with a touch to his hand.

John immediately calmed down against his wishes. “I really wish you’d stop doing that,” he said dreamily.

“Sorry.”


	3. Origins

For almost an hour, John grilled them on what exactly their new “powers” were. As well as the aforementioned telepathy, both, it turned out, now had heightened strength, hearing, and sight. Molly’s ability for flight and mood control was not mirrored in Sherlock in any meaningful way.

His usual powers for deduction were neither diminished, nor greatly enhanced, but his one unique new trait was a chameleon-like ability to blend in to the background, becoming almost invisible. He demonstrated this by standing on the sofa as his skin and clothing took on the look of the damask wallpaper pattern behind. It wasn’t exactly a perfect match, and you could clearly see a three-dimensional person was there, but it was _something_ after all.

John paced and catalogued their different abilities out loud, ticking them off on his fingers as he went along. “Wait. Are you saying Molly’s the hero and you’re the sidekick?” he asked after a beat.

“No,” Sherlock said guiltily looking away.

“Oh my God, she is! She’s a stronger super hero than you!”

“Yes, John. Thank you very much. Molly did get the larger dose of the stuff in ratio to her body type and metabolism. That doesn’t make me the sidekick.”

“No, that’s true. But would you say you do more or less of the crime fighting? Now that I think of it, the videos show quite a bit more of Molly bringing in the culprit. Wouldn’t you say, Mary?” John mocked.

“Oh, yes!” Mary teased.

Molly scolded them gently with a look, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“How many crimes have you solved since this happened?” John asked seriously again.

Sherlock exhaled thoughtfully, “Maybe 40?”

“Wow,” John replied rather impressed.

“Um, 47,” Molly corrected gently. “You’re forgetting about the night with the yobs in East Ham.”

“Oh, that’s right. You had to miss work the next day we were so exhausted.” Sherlock seemed to smile fondly for a moment.

“This is why you’ve been sleeping or falling asleep every time I’ve seen you?” John asked.

“We stay up all night solving crimes. And using our...powers...is actually quite draining.” Sherlock confirmed stiffly. “Some days I would prefer to go back to how I was, just so I could go back to not needing sleep for days on end.”

“Why don’t you take some time off from crime fighting?” Mary asked.

“We tried a few times, but it’s not that easy to ignore.” Sherlock glanced at Molly quickly.

“I see,” Mary nodded thoughtfully then brightened with an idea. Molly giggled before she could say it out loud, however. “Oh please put the masks on for us! I bet you look so hard!”

Sherlock protested strongly. Apparently it was one thing to use them to hide their identity, it was another to be on display. Molly only had to look at him and smile for a few seconds for him to relent. So they donned the masks briefly and stood side-by-side, Molly playing along with her hands on her hips and her stance wide and proud. Sherlock just scowled and whipped the mask off after a minute.

John stared at his friends, still in a bit of shock. But he heard Mary hum thoughtfully and Molly seemed to blush and quickly removed her mask as well.

“I could sew on some spangles or something if you want. Oh, and spandex costumes! With capes!” Mary said brightly, not taking her eyes off Molly.

“No capes!” Sherlock bit out and finally sat down, rather hard.

“No, no that’s quite alright,” Molly smiled. “Sherlock’s better able to do his chameleon thing in all black for some reason.”

“Speaking of which,” Sherlock started, significantly calmer. “It’s getting late.”

“Oh, of course!” Mary agreed. “You have to go to work! Anne should have been in bed long ago. Not that she hasn’t been sleeping this whole time! Molly, seriously, I am going to call you whenever she is fussy. And in her ‘terrible twos’ you might have to move in.”

“Anytime, Mary it’s really my pleasure. Her thoughts are so interesting! It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but occasionally something clicks into place.”

“That’s so bizarre. Are you free for lunch this week? I need to get out of the house more and talk to grown-ups.” Mary smiled and also gave a meaningful nod to Molly.

“Er, yes. I’m off tomorrow. Call me after 12 and we can go wherever you want.”

John and Mary gathered up the baby and said their goodbyes, feeling like they were floating on air after hugging Molly. They caught a cab and didn’t say much on the ride home. Their worlds had been flipped upside-down in less than two hours. All John could say was, “That was odd.” To which Mary just exhaled and nodded meaningfully.

\----

Mary met Molly at Patisserie Valerie in Notting Hill the next afternoon. Anne was left with the nanny and Mary had been inexplicably nervous about leaving her up until she saw Molly and they embraced briefly. “ _I have to get used to that,_ ” she thought.

“ _Sorry_ ,” Molly’s voice sounded in her head.

“No, no don’t be. It’s so....” Mary couldn’t think of the word, just the feeling of a mix of interesting and amazing.

“I know,” Molly agreed. “I’m still not really used to any of it.”

They settled themselves in a booth in the back and ordered coffee and sandwiches. Mary tried to keep her mind from racing but she just had so many questions to ask.

“It’s ok, Mary. Start wherever you want.” Molly encouraged her with a smile.

“No, no, I don’t want to be a nag. Tell me about last night. Did you catch anyone?”

Molly recounted the tale of some teens who tried to steal some bicycles from their neighbour’s shed. “It was rather quiet actually. Which is nice, to not be so tired this morning.” She took a sip of her coffee and smiled weakly at the table. “It’s really me that keeps us going. It’s sometimes like a compulsion. I would feel so guilty if something terrible happened that we could have easily stopped. Sherlock indulges me. I feel really bad for dragging him out sometimes, but he always says he wants to. Even in his mind, he wants to, so I guess that’s okay then.”

“Right...so, Sherlock’s good, then?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s fine. Still asleep.”

“Uh-huh. So...do you...” _Sleep together every night?_ Mary finished in her head.

Molly gasped and immediately blushed. “I...um...well...”

“You do, don’t you?” Mary asked, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.

“It sort of just happened.” Molly admitted, not able to look at her friend. “The night of the incident he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. And then when we continued to grow into our ‘abilities’ he wanted to observe _everything_ , and keep detailed notes. He wanted to try some telepathy experiments while just I slept, and then again while he slept. And we were going out at night to test our limits without being seen, and I’d fall asleep on the sofa while he tried to stay awake and make sense of it. And it has kept on like that for a little while now, We had been swapping nights at mine until this week. Toby’s probably angry at me for leaving him with my neighbour.”

Mary couldn’t keep the image of Molly and Sherlock emerging from his bedroom together from her mind. She stared at her friend, not wanting to embarrass her, but really wanting to know if it was more than what she was admitting out loud.

Molly shook her head almost sadly. “It’s really nothing. We share the bed occasionally. He doesn’t...we don’t...I mean-”

Mary stopped her friend from fretting with a hand on her arm. Immediately she was filled with overwhelming sadness and longing. Tears formed in her eyes and her heart actually ached. Molly pulled her arm away quickly when she realised.

“I’m sorry,” Mary started. “I shouldn’t have asked...or...thought, rather.” Molly smiled but Mary could tell it was false. “Have you used your powers for evil yet?” She joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Molly did giggle quietly. “Not unless you count listening in on people’s conversations as ‘evil’, no.”

“Oooo, have you heard anything good?”

“Just the usual. Lists of chores to do, keeping mean thoughts to themselves, cravings for different foods...”

“The occasional mental undressing of someone?”

“That too,” Molly grinned and blushed again.

The rest of their outing progressed much in the same manner. Mary forced herself to keep it all light and saved her worried thoughts until after they’d parted. Molly was obviously exhausted, and not just from her late-night crime fighting and new-found super powers.


	4. Imminent Crisis

A few days after the night of the reveal, John found out another strange body had been found. He stood over the cadaver on the slab, thoroughly confused by the sight. Ms. Gebeine had been dead for several hours at most, but parts of her looked like they had been decomposing for days. The young woman’s left calf and right forearm had decayed to the point where the skin was falling off. The longer he observed her, the further the decomposition progressed.

Sherlock and Molly worked at lightning speed to extract tissue samples, testing some and preserving others in a formaldehyde solution. When the decomposition left only bones attached to the remaining parts, they stopped rushing around.

“Nothing like this has ever been recorded,” John said seriously after a moment.

“Given the pattern of the affected areas, it has to be a reaction to a chemical of some type.” Molly added.

Sherlock paced around the body not saying anything, occasionally glancing at the samples semi-preserved in the formaldehyde.

“Where was she found?” John asked Molly.

“Putney Bridge. About 100 metres down river on the north bank.”

“Molly!” Sherlock exclaimed suddenly, “Is Mr. Vert still in-?”

“Yes, cabinet 12.” Molly cut him off.

“Who’s Mr. Vert?” John asked.

“The green gentleman from before,” Molly clarified kindly.

Sherlock pulled out the drawer and hurriedly examined the body. He rushed around, pulling out paperwork and results from samples, going back and forth between the two cases. He mumbled to himself and squeezed his eyes shut tight like he always did when accessing his mind palace.

Molly winced and held her head as she made for the morgue doors. She motioned for John to follow, which he did willingly.

“Sherlock’s mind is racing, I can’t tell what he’s thinking and it gives me a headache to be too close. He forgets to tone it down when he’s really concentrating on a case.” She clarified.

Before John could say anything, Sherlock stepped into the hall as well. “I’m sorry, Molly. I got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” she replied softly.

“I’m finished with the bodies for now.” They looked at each other for a second and then nodded in unison. Surprisingly, Sherlock returned to the morgue and began putting his tools and notes away.

It became clear that they were not going to resolve it right then, so after John helped to tidy he went home to Mary and Anne.

\----

Molly had to block out Sherlock’s racing brain for the rest of the day. Occasionally she would catch words she recognised but mostly it was just a din of noise. He rested briefly on the sofa and she took the opportunity to prepare a small meal before they left for their usual evening vigil.

The chips and fish fingers were crisping in the oven. Molly stood at the table, cutting up carrots for the salad she would either have to force, or guilt Sherlock into eating. Her mind wandered slightly, tuning in on Mrs. Hudson doing a couple of scratch cards in her sitting room. As she watched Mrs. Hudson rub vigorously at the lottery card with a 5p coin, Molly didn’t notice her own movements becoming erratic. Anyone watching her could have predicted what happened next.

“Ow, shit!” she swore loudly as she dropped the knife that had just sliced at the index finger of her left hand.

“Molly!” Sherlock shouted himself awake and appeared at her side instantly. “What happened?” She held her hand aloft, a rather large amount of blood dripping from the gash down into her palm. Sherlock read her thoughts, reliving what had just occurred to cause her injury. “Oh, Molly,” he said gently, taking her by the wrist and bringing her hand under the tap to run water over it. “You have to tune it out if you’re wielding sharp objects.”

She smiled weakly at him, embarrassed to have lost control and caused herself an injury. The cool water soothed the ache in her finger somewhat, and Sherlock’s grip remained firm on her wrist. She suddenly realised how they were pressed together at the sink, and memories of sleeping in the same bed came unbidden into her mind. Except...they weren’t all her memories...They were images of her, back turned toward him, his arms curling around her and drawing her close to him.

Sherlock’s face turned quickly to look at her as he realised the thoughts they were sharing. His gaze was dark and his breathing grew ragged. Molly felt the flush spread from her cheeks to her neck under his scrutiny. The pain in her finger momentarily forgotten, Molly inadvertently held her breath as his eyes flicked down to her lips and back to her eyes.

A loud screech ripped them both back to reality. Sherlock blinked and looked around in confusion. Molly was the first to work it out. “Oven timer. Supper’s ready,” she clarified, removing her hand from his grip to silence the offending noise.

Sherlock turned off the tap as she removed the tray with only her right hand, making sure to use an oven glove. She forced herself to imagine a brick wall, unwilling to let her mind entertain any thoughts she wouldn’t want Sherlock to know.

She carefully held up her injured hand all the while, intending to resume nursing it as soon as the food was attended to. Before she could reach for the first aid kit in the last cupboard, Sherlock once again grabbed her wrist. With a gasp she whirled back around to look at him. As she had been concentrating on blocking him out of her mind, she also hadn’t looked in on his own thoughts.

His face looked almost horrified and his eyes were fixed on her injury. Molly followed his gaze and quickly understood the problem. While her finger no longer ached and bled as it once had, it now bore a large splotch of bright green. Immediately they both thought of Mr. Vert lying cold and emerald in the morgue.

“It’s related!” He gasped. “How does your finger feel? Are you in pain? It’s not changed temperature. Can you move it normally?” He rambled and studied her hand intently.

“It’s fine, Sherlock. I’m fine,” Molly insisted. And as she began to pull her wrist from his grasp once again, the green splotch began to fade and along with it, the cut appeared to mend itself.

After a few seconds it was completely gone, her finger just as it had been before her knife had slipped. Molly could feel her mouth hanging agape and similar shock radiated off of Sherlock. In a flash, he had picked up another knife from the block, and sliced at the palm of his left hand. Blood sprang up from the cut, and Molly realised his intentions without having to read his thoughts. They both stared at his palm for several seconds. Eventually it turned bright green, the cut sealed itself shut and faded away.

“No crime fighting tonight,” he said calmly. “I need to get back to Bart’s.”

“I’m coming with you,” she insisted. For a moment she felt a flash of Sherlock starting to protest. But one stern glance at him and he simply nodded in agreement.

\----

They caught a cab like normal people to the hospital, even though it would have been faster to fly. Sherlock didn’t want Molly to exert more energy than was necessary following the strange occurrence in his kitchen.

He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the last few weeks. They had been rather adept at catching criminals without getting into physical fights. Molly’s knack for emotional manipulation was to thank for that. As a result, neither had been injured since the incident. They had tested the limits of the powers that had made themselves obvious, but hadn’t experimented with what other capabilities they might now possess. It was clear self-healing needed to be added to the list.

Sherlock clenched his left hand, thinking of what it felt like while it healed. _Nothing. It had felt like nothing._ There was pain from the cut, but the green splotch and resealing left no impression otherwise. The pain had faded as soon as the cut was gone. Discovering there were additional side effects to the incident in the government lab agitated him greatly. What else could they potentially not know about it?

Molly sat as far away from him as she could get. She held her hands in her lap and thought of only a brick wall. He appreciated the fact that she made conscious efforts to not touch him and affect his mood. And he assumed that the recent tendency to close her mind was for his benefit as well as hers. The moment at the sink earlier was a distraction. He had been having “distracting” moments for days while she slept beside him, but he couldn’t think of that right now.

Before long the cabbie dropped them off at the doors to St. Bart’s. Molly used her pass to let them in the staff areas and walked slightly ahead of him toward the morgue. Almost immediately, she pulled out Mr. Vert from his cold storage drawer.

Sherlock half expected the body to have returned to normal, but it was as green as ever. For good measure he started to pull out Ms. Gebeine. He watched Molly out of the corner of his eye as she made for the supply closet to get the usual tools for dissection. Her abrupt stop just before her hand touched the doorknob startled him.

“ _Someone’s in here_ ,” she gasped inside her brain, allowing Sherlock to hear.

“ _Back away!_ ” he shouted telepathically, catching onto the worry she felt. He quickly thought out a plan, which Molly seemed to catch onto. She walked back toward him at a normal pace but her expression showed she was hyper alert.

Without a word, Sherlock closed Mr. Vert and Ms. Gebeine back into their drawers, and turned out the lights. Instead of leaving, Sherlock simply opened one of the doors and let it close on itself again. He and Molly remained still, mostly pressed against the wall, which Sherlock took on the appearance of as best he could.

It took only a few seconds for the other presence in the morgue to emerge. The dark figure stepped slowly out of the supply cupboard and Sherlock tried desperately to read the person’s thoughts. All he could sense was Molly next to him, her mind closed.

The figure stopped in the middle of the dark room, only its feet illuminated by the hallway light coming through the small porthole windows in the doors. Sherlock began to catalogue as much information as he could gather about the figure.

“ _Exactly two meters tall. Approximately 13 stone. Male. Armani trousers. Hugo Boss wingtip shoes. No pets. Doesn’t work here._ ” But before he could get much farther, the lights in the morgue flashed back on, revealing their location. Molly gasped next to him just as Sherlock registered who the figure was and why he was pointing a gun at them.

“Lord Moran,” Sherlock deadpanned. “Fancy seeing you here.”


	5. Justice Is Served

Molly’s heart beat hard and fast in her chest. She wished in vain that someone else had the ability to control emotions, because she was on the cusp of panicking. Sherlock shifted next to her, keeping her focused on the situation, and it calmed her a bit further to hear distain and sarcasm in his voice.

The mystery man did look familiar when he was first revealed, and his name was on the tip of her tongue when Sherlock greeted him as Lord Moran. It all clicked into place after that. She couldn’t be sure if it was her own deduction, Sherlock’s, or Moran’s thoughts but she pieced together that Moran was the figure in the government lab.

He had taken a tour of the facility and covertly learned that one of the technicians had experimented with new chemical solutions for medicinal purposes. The scientist had accidentally discovered some strange and amazing properties and side effects in the process. Moran had been a notoriously unscrupulous and power-hungry politician, and apparently under Moriarty’s wing as well.

“ _Really?!_ ” she directed her thoughts toward Sherlock’s mind, realising it was through him that she had learned the last bit. He simply nodded, not looking away from Moran and his gun.

“So you’ve worked it out,” Moran said, not dropping his gaze from Sherlock.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Sherlock’s tone mocked, but Molly could read that he wasn’t entirely confident in himself.

It was unexpected to feel that from him. She had always assumed he felt as calm and secure as he sounded when confronting baddies. When they had gone out together he had definitely felt confidence, but they also always had the upper hand. For reasons she’d never be able to explain, the worry she had been feeling suddenly melted away. Instead she was filled with determination and nerves of steel.

“It took you long enough,” Moran shot back. “Taking a break from being Britain’s best and brightest superheroes?”

“Not in the slightest. You’re next on our list – in case you hadn’t worked that out yet,” she sneered.

“Oh, trust me, sweetheart. That’s never going to happen. You have no idea who you’re up against.” Moran’s tone was derisive, over confident and did nothing to break Molly’s resolve. She turned her mind to his, surreptitiously catching his thoughts.

“ _These fools think they can_ beat _me?_ ” his voice floated in her brain. Images of the government lab and Moran injecting himself with a small dose of the chemicals passed in front of her eyes. He moved objects without touching them, crushed boulders with his bare hands, and ran over rooftops, jumping between buildings with ease. She saw him return to the lab and try to recreate the formula to gain more power, experimenting on other people (Mr. Vert and Ms. Gebeine among them) only to have it go wrong. She saw flashes of herself and Sherlock captured on CCTV and replayed in news stories. Moran was certain he was stronger than them, but he didn’t know all of what they could do.

Before she could relay this to Sherlock, he took her hand and pulled her to the ground just as Moran pulled the trigger of his gun. The bullet whizzed past her head and embedded itself in the wall. Molly realised that while she was reading Moran’s mind, Sherlock had been reading his body language.

Sherlock let go of her, quickly lunging at Moran’s legs and knocking him to the ground. The gun scattered across the floor of the morgue, thankfully not going off again. Moran rolled over and pinned Sherlock, aiming to hold him by the throat. To any outside observer, it all would have happened in an instant.

Molly sprung into action, knocking Moran off and pulling Sherlock to safety. She flew them out of the morgue doors, Moran recovering and hot on their heels. Making a sharp left, Molly entered the disused stairwell, shooting up the ample centre opening with ease. Moran followed suit, flinging himself back and forth between the railings, quickly climbing and keeping pace with her.

She reached the top and burst through the roof door. She finally came to a stop, gently putting Sherlock on his feet. He stared at her intently in the dim evening light, his mind only registering mild shock and a strong need to fight back. Molly nodded at him and planted her feet, ready for Moran to make an appearance.

He did wander through the door casually a few seconds later. “Oh, this is _good_. I bet this brings back soooo many memories for you,” he teased.

Molly hadn’t even thought of Sherlock’s show-down with Moriarty when she had brought them up here. She just knew it was out of the way and less likely to cause property damage when they continued to fight.

“What can I say?” Sherlock taunted back. “I prefer to have home court advantage.”

“Nothing is going to help you now. She might be able to fly, but you can’t, can you?” Moran lunged at Sherlock, knocking him to the ground. They both rolled over the roof for several meters before they came to a stop.

Sherlock freed himself from Moran’s grip, and put some distance between them, but only to prepare for the next assault. Molly could read that Moran still underestimated them – especially her. That’s why he was going after Sherlock again. Moran thought Molly only had flight, she had never been seen to fight on the CCTV footage, only to march perps to the Met.

Moran scrambled to his feet again, apparently not fazed at all. Molly saw him plan his next move before he acted. Without thinking much about it, she had pushed off, flown feet-first into his backside, and knocked him to the ground again.

Unfortunately, Molly came to a stop too close and he was able to grab her by the ankle, crushing it in his fist, causing her to collapse in pain. Sherlock acted quickly, kicking Moran in the face, and making him release her. He howled and rolled, blood spurting from his nose.

Sherlock stooped to attend to Molly, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Sherlock he’s getting up!” Molly warned, but Moran had already gripped Sherlock by his coat collar and swung him to standing,

He was landing punches at rapid speed to Sherlock’s torso. Sherlock recovered enough to shrug out of his coat, catching Moran by surprise, as well as in the jaw with his fist. Moran continued to fight back, occasionally blocking Sherlock’s punches, and Sherlock doing the same. They didn’t seem to realise that their fighting slowly brought them near the edge of the roof.

Molly tried to stand and intervene but the ache in her ankle was still very much present. She pushed down her sock and noted that her skin had started to turn bright green, indicating the broken bones would probably be healed shortly. She wondered if Sherlock could hold out that long.

Realising she could assist him in other ways, she decided to put all her energy into altering Moran’s mood. She held out her hand, directing a sense of calm toward him, but it didn’t work. For whatever reason, she couldn’t affect him from this far away. She did, however, catch his thoughts.

Molly saw the silver glint of a knife tucked in his waistband. He dodged Sherlock’s next punch by crouching down and Molly saw him begin to reach behind himself. She could sense that Sherlock had no idea what was coming. Molly instantly pushed off the ground with her good leg, and inserted herself between the fighting men just as Moran made his move.

The knife slashed a hot stripe across her stomach and side, and she fell to the ground hard. She closed her eyes to the pain, curling up and clutching at her torso. Never in her life had she been so instantly scared.

Sherlock’s voice shouted too loudly all around her. “MOLLY! NO! THIS IS OVER, MORAN!”

Without opening her eyes, she saw through Sherlock’s point of view as he tussled with Moran, gaining the upper hand and throwing him from the roof.

Moran continued to struggle all the way down, but his trajectory off the building prevented him from coming close to grabbing anything and stopping his fall. Molly had to mentally look away when he came to an abrupt end, finally meeting the ground face-first.

Molly’s consciousness began to really fade then. She knew Sherlock was holding her side, and they were both soon covered in dark red blood. “You have to hold on, Molly,” she heard him whisper out loud. But his thoughts screamed, “ _This is too much blood!_ ” His hand clutched at her wrist, searching for a pulse, and she felt his panic.

“ _I’m glad you stopped Moran,_ ” she tried to tell him.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he babbled. “Molly you have to save your energy. Can you open your eyes? You have to let yourself heal. I don’t know if...It’s not green yet...You have to hang on, do you hear me? I can’t lose you!” She tried to open her eyes for him, but failed. He continued to clutch at her deep wound in an attempt to keep it closed. “ _Please, Molly, please,_ ” his thoughts begged. “ _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you...._ ” is all she heard before the whole world stopped.


	6. Brightest Dawn

Sherlock shot awake, scrambling to sit upright in his bed before he calmed down again realising it must have been a nightmare that woke him so abruptly. He still felt drained, despite the long rest. The flat was dead quiet and he sighed to himself before standing and pulling on his dressing gown. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, squinting at the morning light streaming through the windows.

He reached for the electric kettle intending to fill it, and was startled to find it full of water and seemingly just off the boil. His mind raced for a moment unhelpfully.

The baby’s coo was the next thing to startle him. He whipped around in a flash of panic, lunging into the sitting room.

Molly sat grinning in his chair, holding their four-month-old daughter in her lap. Philomena gurgled and reached out her pudgy hands to her father.

“Someone’s been practicing,” Sherlock laughed, picking up the baby and settling her against his chest.

“I have indeed,” Molly stood and continued to grin. “I can extend the thought block to both of us, and chameleon at the same time, as long as I’m touching her skin.”

“Brilliant!” Sherlock exclaimed and bent down to capture her lips with his own. Further joy and elation filled him instantly, as he knew it would.

It had been a little over a year since the Moran incident, and their abilities hadn’t waned at all. It took Molly only a few days to recover from the injury to her side, Sherlock never leaving her for an instant. Immediately afterward, Molly and all of her belongings moved permanently into 221B – including Toby who was likely sulking in John’s old room.

After Moran, they agreed to no longer patrol the city at night. It took Molly a while to get used to the idea, and she would sit by the windows for hours in case she “heard” anything. New Scotland Yard received several anonymous phone calls a week tipping them off to crimes in progress. Sherlock returned to solving crimes the “old fashioned” way by the light of day – sometimes calling on John, sometimes asking Molly to come along.

The only thing to cause them any real upset was discovering they were going to be parents. There was mild panic throughout the pregnancy, that the still unknown compound – lovingly referred to as Chemical X – would negatively affect the baby. But that had proved to be of no concern in the end. Philomena came into the world like any other healthy baby - slippery, wrinkled, and crying her lungs out. Yes, it was all rather wonderful, Sherlock often thought.

“Oh, and John called just a moment ago,” Molly said, walking to the kitchen to resume making tea and breakfast. “Anne has apparently hidden his keys again. Do you want to go and read her, or shall I fly over quickly?”

Sherlock chuckled while setting Philomena back in her bassinet, “I’ll go.” He flashed into the bedroom, changed into his regular clothes and shot back into the kitchen to kiss his wife again. “Love you. No toast for me this morning. Just the eggs, please. Be right back.” He said before opening the window and flying out to come to his friend’s rescue.


End file.
